


Nightmare on Samhain

by shuns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: Apologies, Bust Lifting Charms, Charades, F/M, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me A Rare 2019, Inspired by the Nightmare Before Christmas, Misunderstandings, Samhain, Sleezeazy's origin story, The Soundtracks Edition, surprise proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 02:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20649515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuns/pseuds/shuns
Summary: Fleamont Charlus Potter, 'Flea' to his friends, did not want to attend the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers Samhain Feast for- reasons -so many reasons. Mostly, he did not want to see Euphemia Dorea Black, 'Fee' to her friends, since she destroyed their business. Tollforth Haskell Nott, 'Forth' to his friends, is over Flea's wallowing and Fee's secrets. Once he gets his head out of his arse, he is going to get his two friends together and end thisNightmare on Samhain.





	Nightmare on Samhain

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.
> 
> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Volume 4. Much love to my Beta and Alpha who shall remain nameless for the moment.  
Song Prompt - Jack and Sally's Song - Danny Elfman - _The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)_

Inspiration Round Moodboard - _The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)_

“I hate these things. It was a crush to get a firewhiskey. The one potion master who would talk to me laughed when I told him what I could pay him. Then, I changed over to the brewers. The last one I talked to didn’t know how to use boomslang skin. Even I know the use of boomslang skin. Forth, remind me why I decided to come?”

“It certainly wasn’t for the drinks, Flea.” 

Fleamont ‘Flea’ Charlus Potter, scion of the House Potter, watched, Tollforth ‘Forth’ Haskell Nott, second son of the House of Nott, dump his murky cocktail on one of the potted palms in the corner of the large drawing-room of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers headquarters. It turned blue and shriveled 

“Merlin’s hat, how did that not kill you, Forth?”

“Tolerance, Flea.”

He surveyed the cocktail hour crowd. Standing there with just Forth felt wrong. They had been a trio. ‘Forth’ Nott was Flea’s best friend. Euphemia ‘Fee’ Dorea Black was his know-it-all girlfriend, no, the girl who was a friend, just a friend, nothing more - friend only. They had bonded a Hogwarts over the shared hatred of their first names. They even started a club, the Foul Frist Namers. He, Charlus, and she, Dorea, had begun using their middle names in third year. Forth demured as Haskell wasn't an improvement. A few people still called him Fleamont, mostly his mother and father. Fewer still called him Flea, but they did not make the same mistake twice. He was a keen duelist, and he saved his nastiest hexes for people who taunted him. Flea was special and reserved for only his two closest friends. Though after what happened with _her_, he was down one best friend. 

The cocktail hour preceded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potineer’s Samhain Feast. Attendance wasn’t required of members but was encouraged. Each Halloween the crackpots, clover cogs and crafty alchemists broke out their finery for its annual airing. Hector Dagworth-Granger knew no one would exert themselves to attend unless there were awards. The most innovative potion won only a small bag of gold, but no one was here for the money. It was about bragging rights and press coverage. The winner would be in_ Prophet _tomorrow. The fair and balanced secret judges from the Society spent the summer reviewing formulae, potions, and techniques submitted by the members in the Spring. They would select the potion most worthy of recognition, in a completely unbiased and impartial way. Naturally, the entire process was rife with bribery, threats, and politics. 

Three F's Apothecary hadn’t entered a potion. Flea, the manager, and Fee, the brewer, had a colossal row two weeks before the deadline. She wanted a larger share of their fledgling company. Each of them held 33.3%. He said brewing 'a simple hair potion' wasn’t worth 50% of profits. She had told him without her skill there wouldn't be a company, and he was 'a talentless grub.' He had called her 'a grasping, conceited modern-day harpy.' She had stormed out and hadn’t returned that was six months ago. He knew the ingredients and the general method she used, but they couldn’t get her simple hair potion right. He had been testing his concoctions on himself. His hair was such a mess he couldn’t get a comb through it. With the last batch, the Healer at St. Mungo’s had to use a freezing charm to stop the out of control growth. Flea’s only reason for attendance to the Feast was to find a new master potioneer or at least a decent brewer. Otherwise, Three F's Apothecary would close its doors by Yule.

“Flee, hold this cursed glass, I packed provisions in case the libations, and I use the term loosely because I’m sure they are serving is uncut pixie wee, were awful.” He patted himself down and produced four flasks and two envelopes that hovered in the air. He dumped one of the packets of powder into the glass then added a measure each from two flasks and a few drops from the third. The lumpy black potion coagulated then sloshed violently in the tumbler, threatening to spill over the sides. He took a pinch of powder from the second envelope and threw it on top of the seething liquid, and there was an audible blech from the glass that drew bemused glances from other potioneers near them. Both Flea and Forth leaned back as the drink sent up a stream of fire roughly three wand length into the air. The drink turned a fiery red-orange that swirled lazily in the glass.”Viola, Chinese fireball.” He poured half in Flea’s empty cup. 

Flea was mesmerized by the ever-shifting colors, “Fee -_ Dorea - _ taught you how to make it? She never showed me.”

“Well, of course, she did. I couldn’t come up with this on my own. I’m only the weak-minded spare, according to Father. She likes me. She _only_ loves you.” Forth downed the drink in one gulp and came up coughing sparks. Chinese Fireballs were not savored; they were endured. He transfigured the glass into a napkin and folded it into a swan. “Of course, the terrible drinks and weak conversation aren’t the _real_ reason why you don’t want to be here. You want to avoid her.” Forth continued with a dramatic sigh, “You know, it’s the children that suffer when parents fight.” 

Flea rolled his eyes, “I’m not your father. Wouldn’t want to be.” And it was not about avoiding her. _ Mostly. _

“Flea, my father doesn’t want to be my father. I don’t hate the right sort of people, not like perfectly prejudiced Cantankerous. You know he is writing a book about the people he hates? Or maybe it's the people he likes. I can't remember which it is. I was astounded he knew how to read, let alone write. I'm sure Father is so proud of his multi-talented Heir. Be that as it may, don’t turn around, now, but the object of your affection has arrived.”

Of course, Flea turned around and stared.

She was a vision as she swept into the dark, clubby room, the physical embodiment of a breath of fresh air. She could be a zephyr. She was wearing very little, what was there clung in most places and floated in the rest. There would be gossip in the _ Prophet _tomorrow about her dress. It certainly wasn’t robes, not with all the skin, she was showing off. It was soft blue, shimmering and ripping like water as she walked. With each step, her left leg peeked out of a slash in the skirt. Her arms and her back were bare, and only magic could keep the top of her dress in place. 

The shade of the dress made her alabaster skin glow an eerie blue. Her inky curls were perfect ringlets caught up in a sparkly clip that forced them into an artful drape over shoulder and back. As if she knew he was watching, she reached up to pat one of them back into place. He had watched her do it a thousand times. It hurt that just anyone in the room could see her do his favorite thing. 

She was beautiful for sure, but it was all wrong. She would never wear something so slinky, so daring, so blue. She preferred green. 

Hector Dagworth-Granger’s looked like he was wearing robes made from a burlap sack in comparison to the delicate nymph standing next to him. At forty years her senior, it wasn’t just their garments; they were a mismatched pair. Flea had never understood why Fee had gone to work for him after she left. Her betrayal hollowed him out, leaving him a skeleton of a man. 

“Flea, talk to her. We need her for the business. Take from my share if you want. You need her. I need her. We need her.” Forth look over at her and waved.

Flea could see her hesitate then the grin broke across her face like an egg cracking. “Don’t do that, Forth, she might come over here.”

“Oh, Sweet Nimue protect us from the scary witch that might come over and_ -gasp- _ talk to us, well, talk to me. I’m still her friend. But I am also your friend, and I am telling you, stop being an arse. All this tension is giving me palpitations. If you don’t straighten this out, I will be forced to make it happen. And, I will not be responsible for the idiotic lengths I will go to make a point. There will be explosions and a duck, perhaps a goose. But waterfowl will be involved because this is foul.”

“Forth, have you been at the firewhiskey? Because your metaphors lack any subtlety, tonight. ”

“I will neither confirm or deny your accusation. Perhaps I’m just effervescing all over the place. My cup doth runneth over.”

“Your mouth, you mean.”

Forth sighed and he put a hand on Flea's shoulder and squeezed, “Flea, promise me you’ll talk to her if the opportunity presents itself. She wants to apologize. She isn’t going to hex you.” He paused, remembering the pair of shoes she had ruined and the visit to St. Mungos, and added, “Much.”

Flea’s words and courage dried up. What could he say to her? What if it had been too long? What if he had lost her for good? He watched her until a crowd of Dagworth-Granger’s toadies swallowed her. Only then did he choke out, “Forth, go spike the punch. It’s the only thing that might make this party not awful.” 

* * *

Flea watched her unhook her arm from Dagworth-Granger’s for the fifth time. He had counted. Her face, a pretty mask, gave away nothing. Dorea Black was the perfect arm charm, a painted doll. She was not his Fee, and it hurt to watch her.

The three of them, Flea, Forth, and Fee, had gotten stuck together, literally, during a potion incident their third year. She maintained it was her botched loyalty potion that made them such fast friends. He believed that the fourteen hours of forced camaraderie until the potion wore off did it. Regardless, from that day forward, they had been inseparable. He knew Forth and Fee as he knew himself. 

The Feast had been excruciating. He was close enough to Dagworth Granger to overhear him say, “ ... and Dorea’s spends all her time on cosmetic potions. Hair usually.” She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off when he resumed, “It’s no cure for dragon pox, but it keeps her busy, and you know what they say ‘The busy witch has no time to bitch. Isn’t that right, Dory?” 

She smiled wanly and took a small bite of her meal. He waited for her to hex Hector or sprinkle a poison that could cause painful death while remaining undetectable on his food, but it neither happened. Flea wasn’t sure what to make of this quiet witch who had replaced Fee. He had thought of her frequently in the last six months. He felt her arrangement with Hector was just another way to snub him. Now he was beginning to wonder. 

Flea’s ear perked up when he heard. “Did I tell you that I stole Dorea from Potter?” He pulled her close in a meaty embrace. “Quite a treasure. In the new year, we plan to make our arrangement permanent. She will go from mademoiselle to madam.”

Flea gasped and met Fee’s eyes, and she held his gaze. He couldn’t tell if she was pleading with him to leave her alone or to rescue her. 

As if on cue, a flock of napkins lifted off from the tables and folded themselves into swans. They took flight around the room soaring and diving above the assembly. One came to rest on the chandelier over Hector, shitting coffee cream on his head. Flea watched Dorea's face come to life, and he saw Fee laugh. Hector turned puce with rage and stomped towards the toilets. Across the table Forth winked. Flea, turned back to see Fee, who knew one of Forth’s diversions when she saw one, leaving the room. 

* * *

She slipped into the potions library, a small book-lined room with a large oculus looking out on Gringotts and the north end of Diagon Alley. The torches burned low casting flickering shadows on the wall. She shivered when he closed the door. “Hello, Charlus.” He hated hearing her say his name; it sounded wrong. 

“Dorea." That sounded even worse. "How have you been?” A simple question. He could tell she was awful, but he wasn’t sure why. 

“I’m well, And you?” Lying liar. 

“Good. Good, Very good.” If she could lie, then so could he. The goblins were at his threshold. He had enough money to make it until Yule, but unless he had something to sell and soon, Three F's Apothecary would close. “I wanted to talk to you, Fee, and give you a chance to apologize.”

She was quiet, but her eyes blazed. She exhaled and spewed fire. “You insufferable man. Forth told me to talk to you because you wanted to apologize.” 

This was the Fee he knew, “Did he now? It appears that we have both fallen victim to one of his pranks.” For one moment, he thought about storming out with his pride intact. But that wouldn’t keep the doors to the Apothecary open. Forth was right; the tension was killing him. “What if, hypothetically, I regretted what I said last time.”

“Do you mean the time you called me a grasping, conceited modern-day harpy who thinks much too highly of her abilities or the time where you told me that I was a turn-robe traitor you didn't care to know because I took the job with Hector.”

“Either, probably both.” She raised an eyebrow. “All right, definitely both.”

“Then, theoretically, I would say calling you a talentless grub that cannot function in the vertebrate world of higher thought was a bit harsh.

He returned a raised eyebrow at her, “A bit?”

“Fine, it was harsh. And turning your shoes inside out while you were wearing them wasn't nice.”

“No, it wasn’t. And you ruined a perfectly nice pair of shoes.” He smiled. She smiled back, and then she looked up. She had seen his hair. He tried to run a hand through it, and then it got stuck. 

“Your hair is a mess.” She opened her small beaded bag and pulled out a tin. She scooped out a dollop with her fingers, “Sit down.” She gestured to the low seat in front of the oculus window. Her hands felt like magic as she worked the potion in from scalp to strand. “Sweet Nimue, what have you been doing, Flea?” 

With just one word _ -Flea- _ the strain of the evening began to loosen. “Well, I’ve been trying to recreate your hair potion and failing miserably. I ran out three months ago.”

“You’ve been testing your dodgy potions on yourself? Brash, idiotic Gryffindor. You’ve spell-damaged it something terrible. I think this might be permanent. You'll be lucky if you don’t pass it on to your children. Pity, you had such nice hair.” Fee had always been jealous of his hair. She had invented the hair potion to tame her unruly curls. 

He leaned back against her as she combed out the tangles with her fingers. She laughed lightly at his groan of pleasure. He was too relaxed, which is the only reason he said, “I miss you, Fee.” Her fingers stilled, and he could feel her moving away. He caught her arm before she could go. He was going to try again, but this time he wouldn’t shout, he would listen, really listen, and hear what she had to say. “Fee, why are you with him?” 

Her face fell, and she stiffened. “Ask me anything but that, Flea,” she said softly. “I can’t -” her voice choked off with a cough and her face twisted in pain.

This was why they had fought. She had asked for a more substantial share of the business, too large, and she_ wouldn’t _say why. When she left them, she_ didn’t_ say why. Now, when he asked why she was with Dagworth-Granger she _couldn’t, _say why.

Physically couldn't. That was odd. 

He might not know why she was holding back, but he knew what the _scold’s bridle _looked like. It was a dark piece of family magic that the head of the house or even the head of a family could place on a member. It would stop the witch or wizard from discussing a taboo topic, usually by constricting the tongue, in some cases severing it outright. Fee’s face shone with tears, frustration, or pain. It didn't matter. He did hate to see a pretty girl cry. 

“Fee, do you enjoy charades?” 

“Charades?” She sniffed and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. 

“Yes, perhaps you could mime the words?” While you couldn’t say or write the taboo under the bridle, it didn’t prevent pantomime. Flea and Forth had figured that out when Forth's Father had used the enchantment. Magic did leave some significant loopholes. She caught on, and a smile cracked her frown. 

She held up her hand with three fingers extended, “Three words,” he said. Then she held up her index finger, “First word.” She stroked her chin like she had a beard “Beard?” She shook her head. She held up something to her eye, and then she hobbled around pretending to walk just like her father did. “Old man? Father?” She put her right finger on her nose. She mimed, throwing something small. “Casting stones?” She shook her head and drew a square in the air, then poked it almost like she was dotting it. Seeing he was still confused, she shook her hand and cast again like in dice. “Dice? She shook her head, not that. She pretended to take out her money bag and give him a coin before she cast the ‘dice’ then she took the coin back. “Bet?” Right on the nose again. Then she pointed to herself. “Fee?” Right on the nose. “Father bet Fee?” She nodded vigorously. 

Flea thought about this. Cygnus loved wagers, but he was chronically short on cash. It had fallen out of practice to offer your firstborn son for payment, but it was still done with daughters, quietly, to settle debts. The pieces clicked into place. Fee pushing for a larger share of the business. Her retreat from their business and the new position with Dagworth-Granger. He had been a blind idiot.

If her choice was between saving her family’s reputation or bankrupting it for the crazy idea she, Flea and Forth had concocted in their fifth year at Hogwarts, of course, she was going to help her family. To do otherwise would be a family betrayal and that kind of magic could kill a witch or a wizard.

He couldn’t stop himself. He pulled her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Fee. I had no idea.” Her perfume drifted up and lingered. This wasn’t the first time he had held her or the first time he smelled her perfume. But he had never done so while brushing his hands against her skin, so soft and warm. Then Forth’s words hit him _ ‘She likes me. She only loves you'_. Forth was right. He would be insufferable prat when he found out. 

The door banged open, and Hector stood there. “Potter, stand back from my witch. Dorea, come here, _now._”

Flea pushed her behind him. “She doesn’t have to go anywhere.”

Hector’s grin was a vile thing dipped in poison, “But she does. She’s mine bought and paid. You lose twice Potter. I’ll take your witch then I'll take your company. Dorea - _now._” 

Flea watched her walk toward Hector, and with each step, it was like the threads the held her together were pulling tighter and tighter until she was the perfect doll once more, standing by his side. Hector grabbed her arm, “Say goodbye to Charlus, Dorea, this is the last time you will see him. I’m revoking your membership Charlus. I don’t want trash like you in my club.”

She looked towards him with dead eyes, “Goodbye, Charlus.” The door closed quietly leaving him alone, bereft.

* * *

When Flea left the library, Forth was leaning against the wall opposite the doors, hands in the pockets of his trousers, “Well, that went well. I see you’re still in one piece. Brilliant,” he observed.

“I’m going home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone.”

“Pity. She's wasted on that sack of insects. Did you talk?” Forth fell into step as Flea moved towards the Floo.

“Yes, but what can we do. It’s not like I could steal her away. It would be declaring war on the Blacks, and they play with their food. I don’t have any money to buy her freedom or the bride price. We are going to lose the Apothecary, and I am going to lose Potter Keep. I’ll be lucky if I still have the cottage at Godric’s Hollow when this is done. I am well and truly buggered. I’m going to go home and drink the last of my firewhiskey and hope it's enough to make me forget this horrible night. I’d invite you, but I don’t know that I have enough to share. But you are welcome to join me. If you bring your own drinks.”

“No, as a delightful as spending the rest of the evening watching you wallow would be, I have a few people I would like to talk to before I leave.” Forth had that maniacal gleam in his eye. Flea wouldn’t be able to stop him even if he cared to try. And after watching Fee walk out of his life, this time for good, he couldn't be arsed to try. 

He stepped out of the Floo into his townhouse. The bottom floor was the warehouse. The second was the potions lab and office. The upper floors were his living quarters. When he sold this property, he might enough to pay the note on Potter Keep. He would have to find other employment probably something depressing like working at the Ministry. He surveyed his messy desk, squeaky wooden chair, and the long low leather sofa in deep green. Fee -_no Dorea- _ had insisted on buying when they made their first sale. It had eaten up all their profits. It was an extravagance they couldn’t afford. But Fee- _Dorea, her name was Dorea - _ had chosen well. He loved sitting toe to toe with her talking about potions, Forth's adventures, or his plans for the business. They had all their meetings on it.

It wasn't just for work. The sofa starred in some of his most lurid fantasies. Only under veritaserum would he admit that he regularly imagined her under him, naked and gasping as he fucked her into the cushions. Sometimes he imagined her bent over the arm with her arse in the air. Or draped along the back holding on, looking at him over her shoulder. But she was his partner, and he had a business to run. He left then as fantasies. When she left, he had been so hurt he put those thoughts of her away. He had thought about destroying the sofa many times, but he couldn't. It stayed as a painful reminder of a time when he thought good things would happen.

How wrong he had been. 

They had planned to revolutionize potion making the same way Newt Scamander had creature studies, using a scientific approach. Forth would find the best ingredients, Fee would brew them, and Flea would sell them. He should have known something would go wrong; it always did. For ten months following their graduation, everything was perfect. They had steady orders from Gringott’s and the Ministry. St. Mungo’s was interested in a trial. 

It was Fee _ -no Dorea why couldn’t he stop calling her Fee _\- who suggested they return to cosmetic potions to diversify. She used cosmetic potions because her beauty charms were terrible. All her charms were awful. More than half of their seed money came from the cosmetic potions she brewed in school. Since fifth year and their average OWLs, they dreamed of an Apothecary of their own. They had saved all their pocket money and found odd jobs to scrape together enough to make the dream of being more than their names, first or last, come true. 

He walked over to his desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. He was down to one maybe two swallows of Ogden’s. He would buy a new bottle tomorrow. If the business was going to fail, he could afford to be drunk for it. He drank from the bottle and finished it off. 

The Floo flared and coughed out an ill-built bundle that looked like Forth, carrying a sack. He stood awkwardly as his head was no longer attached to his shoulders. 

“I have something for you, an early Samhain gift,” came Forth’s bright voice emanating from his rear. 

“We give gifts at Yule, not Samhain, Forth. Why, in Merlin’s name, is your head on your arse?” 

“Well, technically, my head is up my arse. I needed to create a distraction and canceling the bust lifting and dress sticking charms on all the witches attending the Samhain Feast were excellent but costly distractions. 

“What did you need a distraction for, Forth?” Flea asked warily. The last time they had needed a distraction was smuggling a Sphinx into Professor Dumbledore’s office.

“To get your gift.”

“If I open it and find a very grumpy hippogriff, I will be quite cross. It was not funny the first time or the second time.”

“Not a grumpy hippogriff,” he sang. 

He untied the strings at the top of the bag, and this flopped open to reveal a slightly rumpled, wide-eyed Euphemia Dorea Black.

* * *

Forth was crouched on the sofa on his elbows and knees, lest his face be smothered if he sat., “Isn’t this cozy? Tea?”

Fee, next to him on the sofa, raised an eyebrow, "Where would it go, wait. No, I don’t even want to think about it. Just take me home before someone realizes I’m missing.” 

He shook his head so vigorously his arse waggled, “Not until you two figure this out. Please, you are my dearest friends, and we are clever enough to beat this.” 

“I don’t know that the wizard with his head on his arse would be considered clever,” said Flea. 

“Well, he got us here,” said Fee, ”But shouldn’t you take care of this situation.” She gestured to the head in his arse. 

“Oh, Aunt Prinny does it all the time. St Mungo’s has a protocol. I’ll have a splitting headache in the morning. But what’s new there, it just takes a pepper-up potion to cure that.”

Flea looked at her, “I’m sorry he kidnapped you. I didn’t know this was what he planned.”

Forth smiled, “I didn’t either. The moment was pure inspiration.”

Fee grinned, “I could forgive you the indiscretion even the embarrassment Forth, but you completely undermined my moment in the sun.” Flea was confused. “My potion won Flea.” 

“What?” It was astounding that Fee had been able to sway the ancient wizards club her way. 

“Between leaving Three F's and working for Hector, I submitted the hair potion to the Society. I called it Sleekeazy's. They called it an exceptional piece of applied potiontry. The potion fixes your hair problems, one of the judges had curls like mine, but three of them were bald, and their hair grew back, they were thrilled. I had four votes for first place out of the six.”

Flea did the math, “Only four, not all six?”

“Oh, two of the judge were redheads. Their hair started growing, and it turned into wings and tried to fly away with them. It tore off their heads due to weight ratios and airspeed. I’m sure there are hair birds somewhere over Africa nesting with the swallows. What I’m sore about is Hector had told me how silly it was for the past six months. Of course, now I won. I’m sure he’ll take credit for the idea. Or try to, the _Prophet_ took my picture. Anyway, here.” Fee lobbed the bag of galleons at him. 

“Fee, I can’t take this, this is your prize. You should keep it for you. Buy your way free of Hector.” She struggled to say something the words catching in her throat. She finally gave up and held her forefinger and thumb together about an inch apart. “Very close?”

Froth waggled his arse, “No too small.” Fee touched her nose with her right finger. He sighed, “Flea, we have to help her find a way to break the curse. It only she wasn't a Black. She just needs to change her name.”

Flea looked up, _change her name_ if she were a Potter, then she wouldn’t be subject to the scold’s bridle, and Hector couldn’t touch her anymore. It would all be down to his pitch. He stood from where he had been leaning against his desk and knelt before her. 

“I know your share of the Apothecary was a sticking point. I understand why now Fee. I have an offer for you. I think we can bump your share from 33% to 66%, but you are going to have to make a concession. _My dearest friend, __If you don't mind, I'd like to join you by your side_.” Her head cocked to the side. She didn’t understand. “You are going to have to change your name, to Potter.” 

Her mouth dropped into a perfect ‘O’ and Forth whooped before kissing her, which was awkward all around. "I knew we could figure this out!"

Fee was a clever witch though, “If Forth gets 33% and I get 66%, that leaves 1%, who gets that?”

Flea rolled his eyes, “Fee, leave me something. I might want to buy a new broom now and then.”

* * *

Forth’s first ancestor in the English Isles was called Gothar, meaning one who spoke the Godly tongue. As a second son, Forth didn’t have many options for employment. He had been keen on ingredient gathering, but Flea had been surprised when Forth told him about his studies to be a priest in the Temple of Odin. 

When Flea imagined his wedding, he didn’t think it would happen in his dingy little office, with Forth as the officiant with his head attached to his arse, and only in his wildest dreams had Fee been by his side. But opportunities were like that; they seldom came the way you expected. Besides, he was trading 33% for 67%, and that was a good deal. 

Forth arms flapped as he patted himself down, pulling out flask after flask, “Empty, they’re all empty. You need something to share.” Then he drew an apple from his pocket. “Ah-ha, this will do.”

The harsh, consonant-heavy Norse language transformed when it was used for the wedding blessing. The blessing though simple was perfect for Samhain, they couldn't have divined a better future. 

My love, come with me, 

_Where we could gaze into the stars_

_ And sit together as we are  
_

_ For it is plain as anyone could see _

_ We're simply meant to be. _

Forth’s cadence rose and fell, and the apple glowed, golden. He offered it to Fee who took a bite, she offered it to Flea, and he took a bite. When he swallowed, the apple shimmered turning into a golden ribbon that streamed towards their fingers, creating simple gold rings with a five-sided pointed star that looked like it was made from apple seeds.

“And there you are wedded. Now you need to need to be bedded, and you will be a Black no more, Fee. I assume you both know your way from here? I have a rather urgent appointment with St. Mungo’s to remove my head from my arse. Ta-ta” He stood and walked to the Floo. 

“Forth, thank you. Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything for you, Mrs. Potter. It is so odd saying that.”

“Yes, a bit odd hearing it.” She dug into her bag and pulled out the small tin of hair potion. “Can you give this to Hector.”

“But why? He has red hair? Oh, Mrs. P, you are diabolical and my favorite witch forever.” With a pinch of powder and a shout for St. Mungo's he was gone.

* * *

The cauldron fell the floor with a dull clang, and a large round flask rolled off the edge of the bench followed by a series of vials, they shattered in a cascade of glassy tinkles. She broke the kiss and gasped for air, her lips pulled into a saucy moue. “Flea, at this rate there won’t be anything left to brew with. I refuse to work in such appalling conditions. I may need to rethink our partnership, 66% of nothing is zero.” Flea had suggested the sofa, but it turned out that she had harbored similar fantasies about him and her potions bench. Flea was a thoughtful wizard, and he was happy to let his witch go first. They could move to the sofa later.

“I’ll be sure to bring that up at the next management meeting, Fee. Oh, wait, I _ am _management. And I promise you it will be more than nothing.” He pulled her close and captured her lower lip between his teeth. It was his prisoner now. She wanted to renegotiate? _ Fine_. They could renegotiate, but she would have to ransom back her lip first. He sucked on it like a sweet as his hand moved down her body, his thumb grazing her side. Sixty-six percent was going to cost her. Perhaps she would have to give up clothing, permanently. “I hate your dress.” He kissed her again; his tongue stroking against hers.

She sniffed as she broke the kiss and pulled his head back her nails raking against his scalp sending shivers down his spine, “I do too. The color is off-putting. I would rather it be green.” 

“I’d rather it be on the floor.” 

She blinked slowly, her bruised lips pouting. Color flushed high on her cheeks. “Flea, no, I can transfigure it. It’s a perfectly good garment.”

“But you are not _ good_.“ He feathered soft kisses from her chin to her temple until his mouth was by her ear, moist breath misting over it when he whispered, ”You, my dear, are _ great_.”

He stepped back and pulled out his wand, summoning her dress, it flew into his hand and perched there like a tame bird. Shocked, she covered her now naked breasts and stomach, eyes going wide. With a snap of his fingers, the dress was consumed by red flames. “Anything _he _touched, we burn. It's Samhain, time to light the new fire.” 

Her eyes narrowed, “Flea, I’m not burning all my clothes. We can’t afford it. Besides, they’re just clothes.” 

His jaw clenched, and it took effort to force out the words. “I don’t care. I’m yours. You are mine.” He grabbed her hand and put it against his chest. He leaned in close, “Only you touch me. Only I touch you.” With a growl, his hand dived between her legs. His palm against her sex as a finger teased between the folds. He found her slick with her longing. She leaned back and opened her legs. Merlin’s tree, he was thankful she had foregone any undergarments, tonight. Bust lifting charms and anti-static enchantments were the fairies’ berries. He brushed his thumb across the nub at the top of her sex, and she moaned, arching herself towards him. She was expensive, but she was worth it. They would have an armada of galleons between her know-how and his can-do. He had been such a stubborn fool. 

“I am so sorry, Fee. You are so worth 66%.”

She smiled. “Don't you ever forget it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Canon attributes Sleekeazy's hair potion to Fleamont Potter with Fleamont and Euphemia Potter as James Potter's parents. I have read fanon where Charlus Potter and Dorea Potter Black are cast as James Potter's parents. I have chosen to blend the characters for this story.
> 
> Italicized phrases and passages are taken directly from _'Jack and Sally's Song'_


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